


Scars

by Asynca



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 13:52:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7389550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asynca/pseuds/Asynca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I know it's not canon, but I can't stop thinking about what it would be like if Pharah WAS part-Omnic with robot limbs like Symmetra. I'm using Mercy to explore this idea. Speed Prompt written in 121 minutes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

 

It was after midnight when there was a gentle knock on my motel door.

I'd long since changed into my old comfy nightgown and tucked myself into bed with a good book, and it was a surprise that anyone would visit this late at night. Perhaps someone had been nursing an injury they'd been hesitant to tell me about after the battle…? Mercenaries were always full of such false bravado around each other, and it was only when they were alone at night that their wounds began to ache.

I put a bookmark in and set my book aside, climbing out of bed to answer the door. I hoped it wasn't too serious; Winston slept very soundly and he was the one guarding my suit and staff. If someone was hurt, I'd have to nurse a wound the old-fashioned way.

I wasn't sure who I expected, but I was definitely surprised to see _Fareeha_ on the other side of the door. She'd been at dinner with the rest of the team and I was reasonably certain she wasn't wounded—I'd been watching her a little too closely, and not for very appropriate reasons. Not that I'd really know for certain, though—she never let me examine her after the battle and she was very secretive about any injuries when I suspected she might have sustained them. _Soldiers_ , I'd thought dryly, secretly rolling my eyes at how hopeless they were at seeking appropriate medical help.

But… if she wasn't wounded, and she was at my door at midnight…? I wondered if I might end up going to bed with more than just a good book, after all…

She didn't speak straight away. "I've thrown my shoulder," she said eventually, as if it was a grievous injury.

That didn't seem like the sort of thing a soldier would bother much with—I wondered if it was just a opener to get in my room? "Let me take a look," I told her in case she _was_ injured, showing her past me and gesturing towards my bed. It was the only thing on the room to sit on.

She sat somewhat hesitantly on the edge of it, eyes darting down to my nightgown. "I woke you up," she said in a tone of voice that seemed to mean, 'I am a terrible person and I'm bothering you'.

I shook my head as I walked around her. "I was reading, and it's not bother." I smiled at her before I knelt one knee behind her on the bed. "And, besides, it's what I do."

Just as I reached towards her shoulders and she said with some urgency, "My right shoulder!"

That was _odd_. "Okay…" I answered carefully, wondering if she'd had bad experiences with other medical staff before? It would certainly explain her reluctance to receive a check-over after battle.

I would have normally asked my patients to remove their clothing before an examination, but Fareeha seemed the brink of saying 'forget it!' and running off anyway, so I left it in case her injury was serious and this was the only opportunity I got to treat it. I could feel well enough with her thin sweatshirt on, I supposed.

I probed her joint—she flinched, and it _did_ seem quite swollen, which meant I might just end up going to bed with my book, after all. It was hard to tell, though, because she was quite muscular and without looking at the skin, I had difficult in determining if it was fluid or muscle. I spent some time trying to figure it out anyway, isolating the tenderness to the Supraspinatus tendon. Just as a matter of course, I reached across to her left should so I could feel the thickness there and determine _how_ swollen her right shoulder was by comparis—

" _Stop_!" she shouted _much_ louder than she needed to, and _shoved_ my hand away, recoiling like I'd been holding an axe over her. "I didn't say you could touch there!"

I threw my hands up in a 'yield' position, my heart pounding. "Alright, alright!" I told her, stunned by her reaction. My first thought was 'past abuse', so I trod carefully. "It's alright, I won't touch you anywhere you don't want to be touched," I told her as slowly and as calmly. "I was just wanted to get a comparison between your two shoulders so I could see how swollen this one is, that's all."

That didn't calm her. "Well you _can't_!" she spat, and then looked _so_ conflicted I thought she was going to either _shout_ at me again or cry.

I wasn't sure how to proceed with her—I wanted to consider my own safety, but I also wanted to help her if she was in pain, and with _whatever_ pain ailed her—so I just lowered my arms slowly and waited for her next move.

When she saw how nervous I was, she _swore_ at herself in Arabic and stood anxiously, taking a breath and staring at me with the intense concentration of someone who was focusing on not _exploding_ with emotion. She didn't burst forth with it, though. She just pushed it all back down inside her looking _so_ ashamed, and then spun, marching towards the door.

She shouldn't leave like this. She wasn't in a good place. "Fareeha—!"

She stopped in place at the door, waiting.

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

I took a careful breath. _Definitely past abuse_ , I thought. I couldn't think of any other explanation for all those emotions and all that guilt. "Please—Let me look at your shoulder. I promise I'll ask before touching any other part of you."

She flinched like I'd hit her, and then turned back towards me, such _intensity_ on her face. She looked so tormented, so _angry_ with herself. When she very suddenly took three fast, heavy steps towards me for a moment I thought she might throw me against the wall—I couldn't have stopped her—or struck me, or, well, anything, really—but in an instant she was up against me and—

She kissed me. Ferociously. _Passionately_. The sort of kiss you'd give someone who you'd been _desperate_ to kiss for a long time, and even though I'd certainly thought about her that way and it was most welcome, the shock of it all made it difficult for me to enjoy the embrace.

_Maybe it's not abuse, maybe she can't accept she likes women_? I wondered as she pulled me up against her hard body. I kept my hands by my sides; I was too scared to touch any of the places I'd admired on her because of how she'd nearly bitten my head off just for touching her _shoulder_.

She noticed, and pulled away, her deep frown returning. " _God,_ I'm sorry! I'm sorry I—"

"You don't need to apologise, honestly you don't," I reassured her quickly, and then paused. "I just… wish I knew what was wrong, Fareeha. You're obviously really upset and I _wish_ you'd tell me? Please, I want to help."

Her face hardened. "You wouldn't help me if I told you. You'd _hate_ me."

My eyebrows jumped. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

Maybe it _was_ abuse? "I think you'd be surprised." I took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Try me. Helping is what I do."

For a moment she stood there, brow wavering, lungs full, faltering and on the _brink_ of letting it all out. _She's going to say it_ , I realised, hanging on each quiver of her perfect lips. _Say it, Fareeha. Say it_. I truly thought she was going to, but then something _snapped_ in her and she turned her head roughly away and closed up again. "No," she said finally. "No, no I can't." She spun and made toward the door again, and, instinctively, I reached out to stop her.

I shouldn't have, not after what happened before. But I did: I grabbed her elbow gently, expecting nothing more than for it to stop her. It didn't. The fabric _slid_ easily of an unexpectedly smooth surface underneath and I ended up with a handful of it as it pulled down off her left shoulder—

—to reveal the steel cog and alloy sheath of a mechanical joint.

We both looked at it. Through the top of her jumper, I could see it lead down through a prosthetic arm.

I suddenly understood. "You're part-robot," I realised aloud. But why would she _hide_ that? It wasn't so uncommon.

She snatched her jumper back and made a beeline for the door again.

I used more force this time. "There's nothing wrong with that, Fareeha!" I was saying as I tried to stop her. "Lots of people are! It's a miracle of modern medicine that we can replace lost limbs with brand new—"

She struggled with me; from what I knew of robots she could _easily_ have crushed me with one hand but she was trying to be gentle. "I'm _part-robot_!" she told me, her voice rising. "I'm a _robot_! I'm _omnic_! Don't you get it?"

I didn't—?

She was getting more emotional. "You and the rest of Overwatch fought us! You fought against us for decades and we slaughtered _millions and millions of innocent—_ "

"Did _you_ kill them?" I asked her. "Did _you_ kill all those people with—"

"With these hands?" She held them up. "Maybe! Who knows _what_ they belonged to before they were attached to me. I could have been _anything_ before I become this _mongrel_ of—"

I held her hands by her sides, shouting over her. " _The war is over, Fareeha_!" I let that hang for a moment. "The war is over! And when we fought it, we fought against _violent killing machines who wanted to destroy humanity_ ," I told her. "Not against amputees with prosthetic limbs who dream of saving the world. Not against people who want to keep on fighting for justice even though they've lost limbs. Not against _you_."

That _struck_ her to the core; I saw her eyes fill with tears.

I kissed _her_ , this time. I _couldn't_ help it; she was in so much pain. Her lips felt soft and human, the tears spilling down her cheeks were human. There was a human heart beating in that chest; I could feel it as I put my and to her torso. That pain was so human, and I _ached_ to relieve it; to piece by piece take the clothing off her and show her she could feel human even if part of her wasn't. Now now, though: not while she was crying. Not while she _hated_ the mechanical parts of herself and boiled with self-loathing. But, _god_ , I yearned to heal that pain.

I didn't stop kissing her until I could feel her begin to relax, until the tears had stopped rolling off her chin. I only pulled away when I was _sure_ she wouldn't think I was trying to escape her.

I touched her mechanical shoulder. "Do you think I mind this?" I murmured.

She couldn't look at me. "It's more than just that arm."

_Oh_. Well, it didn't change anything. If anything, it made me even _more_ curious about her. "You can show me, it's alright," I promised her. No sooner had I said that, she immediately tensed up in panic again and I realised it had sounded like an invitation. I put a quietening hand on her stomach. "Not now. I'm just saying _when_ you want to, you can feel safe to."

She swallowed, still looking down between us, her long black lashes veiling her lovely doe eyes. God, she was beautiful. She was _so_ beautiful. How could she _possibly_ think she was anything but? In any other circumstance, I would have kissed her again. Not now, though.

It took her a moment to relax again. "Thank you," she murmured. I could barely hear her, and she was holding onto my forearms _so_ tightly that I wanted to wrap my arms around her and tell her everything was going to be okay.

"I'm sorry about…" she let that sentence trail off, lifting her eyes from the floor and looking hesitantly up at me. "Will you fix my shoulder? It's been aching for hours, I can't sleep…"

I exhaled with relief, giving her a smile and a gentle nod.

She sat on the edge of my bed again, and finally— _finally_ —relaxed as I tended to her.


End file.
